


Family Time

by GwendolynGrace



Category: Find Me In Paris (TV)
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Found Families, M/M, Multi, Questions, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:41:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21813097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwendolynGrace/pseuds/GwendolynGrace
Summary: The secret to a Time Agent's success was, never let the quarry speak. If you listened to what they tried to tell you, you might go soft for their excuses.Or that's what Frank had always been told. Turns out, the reason for that advice has more to do with protecting the Bureau than protecting time.An examination of the Rise of the Time Collectors, the Fall of the Bureau, and the assembling of a family.
Relationships: Frank & Pinky & Clive, Ines Lebreton/Pinky, Jeff Chase/Isaac Portier, Jeff Chase/Isaac Portier/Clive, Thea Raphael/Frank
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Family Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hhertzof](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hhertzof/gifts).



> For the Prompt: A time-travelling ballerina from 1905 lands in the present day and attends classes in the modern Opéra de Paris, resulting in a wild combo of ballet, hip-hop/street dancing, and time travel hijinks...what's not to love. I'm not really interested in the romantic machinations.... I'm much more interested in the ballet and time travel drama of it all.
> 
> Time Traveler's Oath: _I promise to observe and not interfere. I will erase marks made by others and not make any myself. I will not give time nor take any away. I will let it pass again and again._

Frank loved the Time Bureau, at first. He'd joined up in 1847, when work had been scarce and food more so. But the Bureau offered three square meals a day and he didn't have to put up with the anti-Irish army or navy nonsense. He got to run around history, catching rogue time travelers and sending them to Time Jail. Best of all, he didn't age as long as he wore the Time Bureau standard-issue vambraces. His first partner, Agent Didier LeFroid, had told him the secret to success was to never let the quarry speak. If you listened to what they tried to tell you, you might go soft for their excuses. "Catch them and scoop them off before they can say a word," Didier had said.

And for the first twenty-five years or so, Frank had been happy to oblige. 

But when Didier retired, he gained Pinky for a partner, and shortly after that….

"Did you hear?" Pinky told him in the Bureau canteen one afternoon. "Janie Sparks said she and Margaux brought in a rogue the other day, used to be a Time Agent."

"Really? A Time Agent went rogue?"

"Nah, she said he'd retired about six months ago. But Janie told me he'd kept a timepiece and never told the Bureau. Guess he thought he'd pop round a bit on the sly. As if we wouldn't notice."

"Who was it?" Frank asked.

"Um, some older bugger. Diddy something. Didier…."

"Didier LeFroid?" Frank gasped.

"That's it!" Pinky said. "Yeah, LeFroid. Oy, what's wrong, mate? You look ill all of a sudden."

"I feel ill," Frank said. "Why did he keep a timepiece?"

"Well, it's got to be tempting, hasn't it," Pinky said. "I mean, we could go anywhere, or anywhen. We could pick up girls in 2039, or--ooh, we could go to Venice in 1575 and pick up a couple of amazing courtesans."

"Are you mad?" Frank hissed. "You can't joke about things like that in here." He darted his eyes round the room. "The walls have ears," he warned.

"Oh, yeah," Pinky said. "Anyway, LeFroid's locked up in the Infinity hallway. He's scheduled for reprogramming in seven days."

"Wow," said Frank quietly. He let the conversation drop, but his mind had started ticking like a clock. "Tell you what, Pinky. You get started on our paperwork after lunch. I've got a...personal errand to run."

"Yeah, sure, Frank. Whatever you say."

He went straight up to the cells, checking frequently to make sure no one had followed him. He opened up his directory and found Didier's chamber. Keying in the code was the tricky bit; the detention office would know within ten minutes that he had accessed the information and entered Didier's cell. He'd have to be quick.

"How could you do this?" he asked without any preamble. "How could you keep a timepiece? Did you not know they'd come for you?"

"Frank. Good to see you too, dear boy," Didier replied. "There are things about the Bureau you don't understand. It's why I retired. They're changing. It used to be about protecting the fabric of time, but over the last two decades, something has happened. Lately, they seem concerned more with controlling than protecting."

"I don't understand. What's the difference?"

"The difference is how they treat time travelers," Didier said. "The Bureau no longer makes a distinction between travelers minding their own business and travelers who are mucking about with the timeline."

"Anyone who travels is mucking about," Frank shot back. "There's always a possibility that someone will change history. We have to protect that, which means any unauthorized travel needs to be counteracted."

"I see," Didier said glumly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Frank asked. "You're the one who told me never to listen."

"Yes, and I was wrong. Listening is key. Frank, dear boy, you've been corrupted. You sound just like them. I'm sorry, for any part I had in making that happen. But the more one thinks about it, the less sense any of it makes. What is 'unauthorized' travel? And as for changing history, that's nonsense. History can't be changed. If you change something in the past, it overwrites the timeline. All others no longer exist. That's history."

"It's unauthorized if it betrays the travelers' oath. Observe, remember? Don't interfere?"

"Look at the arrest records from the last century," Didier told him. "Look at the infractions and the sentences. Look at how many have been reprogrammed--"

He broke off, because a klaxon sounded all around them. It was monumentally loud. Frank clapped his hands over his ears.

"They've realized I have a visitor," Didier mused. "You'd better go. Take care of yourself, lad."

"What about you?" Frank asked.

He shrugged. "I'll be reprogrammed. They'll erase my memory, most likely, and drop me in some horrible century. Maybe the 13th, that was awful from year one to year 99."

"But--"

"Go, Frank. I don't want you getting in trouble. Just look at the records. And be careful."

Frank exited the cell and ran down the hall. He opened the door at the end and escaped through it just as he saw other agents entering the other side. He leaned back against the door, panting heavily. What on earth did Didier mean?

That evening, when they were out on an assignment, he mentioned Didier's misgivings to Pinky.

"Yeah, I'm not too surprised," Pinky said.

"Well, I was," Frank answered. "I was near knocked flat, I can tell you."

"He's saying that it's not too long before the Bureau decide no one's authorized to travel at all. Then all we'll do is run round stopping anyone having any fun."

"Well, time is tricky," Frank heard himself saying. "It's fragile."

"It's not, really," Pinky pointed out. "It's all just there, for the taking."

"We shouldn't be talking about this," Frank said. So they didn't.

~

Pinky felt lucky to work for the Time Bureau, considering he had had almost nowhere else to go. It had been the Bureau or a boys' reformatory and he wasn't having any of that. After orientation and training, he'd been assigned to a clever Irish lad named Frank. They got on really well, except, sometimes, he wished Frank had a more adventurous streak. 

That changed, about six months after they'd been working together. A man Pinky later learned was Frank's old partner had been brought in on charges of unauthorized time travel. Frank had gone to see him, and afterward, Frank grew increasingly dissatisfied. Which was just as well, as far as Pinky was concerned. He'd never really found the Bureau's rules and regulations all that compelling, to be honest. Time was too full of wonder and magic to just let it run on its own, and not enjoy any of it. 

"It's fragile," Frank had argued, when they spoke about it.

But it wasn't, really. The thing about time was that there was an infinite supply of it, and it was never a problem if things changed. History was amazingly resilient. Books might change, but time absorbed the shocks just fine. And with their devices, they could go to any era. 

Except the 13th century. Everyone knew never to muck about in the 13th century. It was just dismal, no matter when one visited.

But so many of the other periods were really quite splendid. He particularly loved the late 18th century, especially if one could pose as an aristocrat. The clothes were pretty awesome, and the girls….

Pinky _loved_ girls. There were pretty girls in almost every place they were sent. Pinky liked to think he had developed quite the reputation as a ladies' man. He had an arsenal of lines that melted hearts and knees across the centuries (even the 13th, if anyone ever went, which one didn't). Since their vambraces, combined with their timepieces, allowed him ample practice. As long as he was sure to return back to the Bureau at the regulation-appointed time, it was easy to cover his tracks. 

It was equally easy to convince Frank to tend to personal business while on assignment. It started with a pint before coming back; then it was a night on the town; then a few days' R&R, since the Bureau didn't give personal time, vacations, or holidays. "It's Christmas," he said to Frank, when they were sent to 1843 for an arrest. "Don't you want to stick around and see Dickens' first edition sell out?"

So they'd stayed. They returned precisely when they were due back, and no one was ever the wiser. It became their norm, and they both loved it. Pinky thought, perhaps Frank especially loved it because he felt cleverer than the Bureau. Frank loved to show off his cleverness. But Pinky didn't mind because...because Frank was like a brother to him. Plus, it meant he got to reap the benefits of their trips.

Fifteen years into their partnership, they were sent to South Africa, 1948, to stop a traveler. "What's she done, then?" Pinky asked Frank.

"She's…." Frank pulled her profile up on his vambrace display. "That can't be right," Frank said. "She's accused of an attempted rewrite of history."

"Yeah? What's she meant to be attempting."

"Well…" Frank blushed. "It looks like she's trying to keep Apartheid from ever happening." He squirmed in his suit.

Pinky frowned. "How...is that bad?" he asked.

"It's not. In fact, it would be very, very good, wouldn't it, if people weren't forced to live under Apartheid for nearly forty years."

"Yeah. Although, without it, you don't get Nelson Mandela, do you," Pinky pointed out.

"Oh, so you do read the Bureau newsletter," Frank observed. 

"I try to keep up, yeah. But my point is, she's doing something noble. Something that arguably makes the world a better place. Why would we stop her?"

"Because, it's not an authorized use of time," Frank said. He had the grace to sound disappointed about it. 

"What if...what if we left it alone?" Pinky asked. "We could see if she succeeds."

"Observe, and not interfere," Frank intoned, rich with irony. "Anyway, she won't. Might as well keep Martin Luther King, Jr. from being assassinated, or JFK," he continued.

"Who?" Pinky asked.

"You know. American civil rights movement."

Pinky shook his head. "Don't read the America stuff, do I. Not our desk."

They didn't interfere. The time traveler was shot by a South African army officer in the middle of a riot. Frank said: "Pinky, let's go somewhere else for a bit. Think I need some time."

"Okay," agreed Pinky. "Where do you have in mind?"

"Oh, hello," a young boy greeted them, blundering into the alley where they'd been keeping out of the way. "Staying out of the fighting? Me, too. Can't see what the fuss is about, but loads of people are getting hurt, so…"

Frank shot the lad a look. "If you don't want to get in a fight, maybe you'd better go home."

He looked confused. "But...you're standing in my home."

"You live here? In an alley?" Pinky asked him.

"Yeah," said the kid with a vapid grin. "It's really rather nice. There's hardly any rats and only one or two snakes."

"Snakes?" Frank squealed suddenly. He jumped up onto an overturned milk crate. "Snakes?"

"Relax," the boy told him. "The ones around here aren't venomous. I'm Clive. What's your name?"

Frank was still looking for snakes, picking up one foot and then the other. He was holding Pinky's shoulders for balance. "I'm Pinky, and this is Frank," he said. "Give us a sec, will you?" 

"Wh--" 

Pinky reached for his timepiece, and fiddled with the dial. Clive slowed down to a virtual stop.

"What are you doing?" hissed Frank. For someone so obviously afraid of snakes, he sure sounded like one. Pinky said so.

"Shut up! Why are you stopping time?" Frank insisted. "That will show on your logs."

"It's fine," Pinky answered. "I think we should take him with us."

"What do you mean?"

"Recruit him," said Pinky.

"We're not recruiters. We should call in a wipe team, is what we should do."

"Come on," Pinky wheedled. "I like him. He lives in an alley. We don't have our collar; she's died, so we have room to bring someone back with us."

"To a jail cell," yelled Frank.

"We can work that out," Pinky said. 

They did. It was actually kind of easy. They put him in the cell, reported back that they were going to interrogate a witness, and then let him out. Pinky wasn't sure whether it traumatized the poor kid or if, possibly, he had already been so traumatized that a little time in an empty white room made no impact. But after that, he became their shadow at the Bureau. They told everyone he was their Intern. No one even questioned it. 

~

"You know what," Pinky told them at lunch one day, about two years after Clive joined them. "We should find a home base."

"A what?"

"You know. A base of...operation. A place where we can go. That isn't the Bureau. You know Mr. Duquet?"

"Head of Development? Super-elite Agent Victor Duquet?"

"Yes, that's the chap," Pinky said with a smile.

"Oh, yeah, sure, he and I play golf every Thursday," Frank quipped.

"Really?" interjected Clive. He was looking wide-eyed at Frank.

"No, Clive," Frank growled. "What about him?" he asked.

"Well, they say he maintains apartments near the Paris Opera. I heard from Phyllis it's his family's, and it's been there for years. Well, at least since Napoleon III."

"I thought everyone lived here, at the Bureau," Clive commented.

"Well, technically, we're not allowed to live outside headquarters until after a half-century of service," Frank explained. "But I'm close to that already. And if you lot came and went with me…. I think you've got something there, Pinky. We'll give it a thought."

Clive smiled at both of them and went back to eating his lunch. He adored Frank and Pinky. They got frustrated with him, he knew, but they never turned their backs on him. He could trust that they'd always be there. They were teaching him how to be a time cop. Or an agent, or something.

"Frank, I don't think you understand," Pinky pressed. He lowered his voice. "I don't think we should make it an official residence."

Frank's face clouded. "We'll talk about it later, then," he said.

"Will we talk after your golf date with Mr. Duquet?" Clive asked.

"Clive, I don't--" Frank began, but cut himself off as an Agent First Grade stepped smartly to their table.

"Agents Frank McCallister and…Pinky Smith?" 

They rose. After a moment, Clive rose, too.

"Who is this?" she asked with a sneer.

"Oh, I'm Clive," Clive said, extending his hand.

"Clive who? What's your clearance?"

"Uh, he's our Intern," Frank said quickly. "It's all right. He's in training."

"Oh. Well, this is a top priority mission." She eyed Clive, taking in his jacket and boots, which were both new. He'd been 10 when Frank and Pinky adopted him, but they aged him up to appear their age. As Frank said, they couldn't have a child working for the Bureau; it would draw attention.

He wasn't exactly sure how one drew "attention." Maybe start with a soldier saluting, or perhaps a classroom of students all sitting up properly--

"Sorry. Did you ask me something?" he asked the Agent. 

"I asked for your credentials," she repeated testily. Really, it wasn't his fault that Pictionary was more fun than she was.

He held out his wrist and pressed the gears Frank had shown him. The credentials they had faked up for him appeared in a hologram above the vambrace. She peered at it.

"Hm. That seems...in order," she said, but sounded like she wasn't sure. "Very well. I recommend you leave him behind, but if you think he's up to this mission, so be it. Just be aware that if you do not apprehend this dangerous criminal, the very nature of time might be altered."

"It's as important as all that?" asked Frank. His eyebrows were doing that thing, where they stayed up to widen his eyes, but his eyes somehow still remained squinty. "If it's so crucial, why not send an Elite?"

She tilted her head, assessing him. "Because they've given it to you lot. Don't. Muck. It up." She pressed a few buttons on her vambrace. "I've given you all the details. I suggest you leave immediately." Then she saluted sharply (Yep, a soldier was definitely a great way to draw "attention"), about-faced, and marched away. 

"She's not very nice, is she?" Clive observed.

"No, Clive," Frank agreed. "Lads, let's look at this assignment."

Frank and Pinky seemed worried when they read the file. Clive still wasn't all that great at reading, so he let them explain. 

"Madalena Palmier. This is the woman who started one of the first Time Traveler Markets," Frank told him. "See, a Time Traveler Market allows travelers from anywhere to bring items through, to anywhere else."

"Oh, I know, like that time you bought me that Atari game to keep me quiet while you and Pinky arrested Ms. Earhardt," Clive said.

"Yes, Clive, like that. The Markets are a sort of nexus, where loads of different periods coexist. They should rip time, but they don't, and no one quite knows why."

"Isn't that a good thing, though?" Clive asked.

"What, good that it doesn't rip time? Yes, of course," Pinky told him.

"Well, that, but no, I mean...aren't the Markets good?"

Frank rubbed his chin with his forefinger. "It's...complicated. They're convenient, sure, but the Bureau find them a nuisance. Items from the wrong period wind up getting left behind and discovered, and there are clean-up crews designed specifically for their recovery. And sometimes, there even has to be some minor reprogramming of witnesses, so history doesn't tie itself in a knot trying to explain why a cell phone case turned up in 1350 or something."

"But everyone who uses a Market knows they're supposed to keep their items secret and arrange to return them if something should happen," Pinky said. 

"That's true," Frank agreed.

"So, what's different about this one?" Clive asked.

"Let's go have a look," Frank suggested. "A reconnoiter, before we take any action. Seems like this is a tricky collar."

They policed their trays, collected their cloaks and gloves, and dialed up the location and date in the file. Paris, 1789.

"I've always loved this period," Pinky exulted. "Clive, we can get new waistcoats. And I fancy some boots."

"Hold on, hold on, lads," Frank called, before they could go too far. "This may be why she said it's dangerous...not just because of the mark, but because we're on the eve of the Revolution."

"Yeah, okay, but...Frank. If we're going to arrest the head of the Time Travel Market, don't we need to go shopping?" Pinky waggled his eyebrows and flashed his teeth. "And don't we need to do our shopping _first_?"

"All right," Frank chuckled. "We'll call it reconnaissance."

Clive loved the Market. He loved all the gadgets and the clothes and especially the fact that as Time Agents they could pretty much have anything they wanted. He loved seeing Frank and Pinky enjoy themselves. He didn't like the idea that the Bureau might not want Markets to continue.

"Pinky?" he asked, while the two of them were being fitted for clothes.

"Yeah."

"I don't want the Markets to go away," he said simply.

"Yeah. Me neither, mate."

"Do we have to?"

"I'd really rather you didn't," said a little girl next to them. He hadn't even noticed her. She was so small, probably about eight. But her eyes were somehow much, much older.

"Oh, hello," he said brightly. "I'm Clive."

"And I'm Maddie," she said. "I take it you're Time Bureau?"

"Oh, sort of. I mean, Pinky here is, aren't you, Pinky? and our friend Frank, he's over there somewhere." He scanned the area outside the booth, found Frank, and waved wildly. "Hi, Frank! That's Frank," he told her. "He's the best mate anyone could ever have."

"That's great," Maddie said. "Now, what were you saying, about closing the Markets?"

"Oh," Clive gasped. Really, she was very clever for an eight-year-old, but he didn't mean to frighten her. "Oh, not all of them. I don't think. And you shouldn't worry. I'm sure your parents will be fine. No, but it seems that this market has been having some problems, lately, with items leaking out into the world and staying there, so--"

"Clive," Pinky cautioned.

"I know, Pinky, I'm just telling this little girl that she'll be all right, you see, the Bureau--"

"The Bureau," said Maddie, suddenly sounding much, much older than eight. "The Bureau are only interested in controlling people. Controlling time. Time belongs to everyone." She darted under the table and snatched up a timepiece. Before Clive could move, she'd clicked its winder and everything around them stopped.

"Let's talk," she said to the three of them. "This Market isn't hurting anyone, least of all the Bureau. If artifacts are accidentally lost or left behind by travelers, that's nothing to do with the market. And anyway, what would you do without easy access to appropriate currency, clothes, and such? How would the Bureau hope to compete with so-called time criminals if you weren't able to easily obtain future technology in the past?"

"We would compete because we have access to it at the Bureau, while criminals wouldn't have access here at the market," Frank pointed out. "You're twisting the truth to suit your argument."

"I am stating facts," Maddie claimed. "I believe you knew a friend of mine. Didier LeFroid."

"How did you…" Frank breathed.

"Because, he came here before he was arrested and reprogrammed, of course," she said. "For someone whose job is traveling through time, you don't understand it very well. He told me that if I ever met a young blond Irishman named Frank, fitting your description, with a fondness for tartan and a hat and goggles like yours, to ask if you ever looked into the records."

"What records?" Clive asked. "Oh, you mean vinyl? I like records. Frank, can we have a phonograph?"

"She doesn't mean that kind of record, Clive," Frank bit out.

"She means the ones Didier asked you to check. The ones you told me about," Pinky confirmed. "Did you? I mean, did you look?"

Frank clenched and unclenched his jaw. "No."

"Maybe you should," Maddie said. "For now, I'll tell you what. If you let me go, I'll disappear in time. You can have my flat. It's got an excellent view of Notre Dame, it's very convenient, fashionable...you'll love it."

"Oh, wow, Pinky," Clive observed with wonder. "How did she know we were just talking about getting a flat of our own?"

She laughed. "Because I understand how stifling the Bureau really is. And you will too, particularly once you taste the freedom of not living there all the time."

"Oh, we already have loads of freedom, don't we Frank?" Clive babbled. "See, we usually take a little holiday before we go back--"

"Shut up, Clive!" Frank shouted. "All right. Let's say we take the flat, and we let you go. Another Agent's just going to find you. They might even send us again. We're not going to ruin our careers just to keep letting you escape."

She laughed again. "You won't need to. Change is coming. Be prepared." She reached into a little drawstring pouch around her wrist, and tossed an ornate key into the air. They all watched it arc up and toward Frank. He reached out to catch it...and when he did, two things happened at the same time. The people in the Market all came back into regular motion, and Maddie, true to her word, had gone.

~

"How did she do that?" Frank wanted to know.

"I don't know, mate, but look. This place is. Awesome!" Pinky hustled from room to room. "We could put a pinball machine over here. And what about a basketball hoop there?"

"I want this room!" Clive shouted from down the hallway. "Can I, Frank? Can I have this room?"

"Yes, Clive," Frank said distractedly. "She shouldn't have been able to get the drop on us so easily. And she shouldn't have been able to disappear from right under our noses like that."

"Yeah. It's bad. On the other hand, we've got a marvelous new place to live, and the Bureau as much as told us this assignment was impossible, so… win-win?" Pinky lounged on a sofa, crossing his ankles. "Let's lay low here for a bit, tell them she spotted us and got away, and then…."

"Then?"

"Then, figure out how to access those records Didier told you about. I'm curious."

Frank dropped into a chair across from Pinky. He hunched forward over his knees, fingers laced loosely between his legs. "Yeah...I am, too."

"So. We'll find a way in and see for ourselves. I don't need to tell you, I think the Markets are good. I don't see that she's doing anything wrong."

"To be honest, nor do I, mate," Frank admitted.

It had been bothering him more and more. He'd heard rumors, ever since Didier was taken. But lately it was getting worse. Agents were retiring, then within months, it seemed, they were being reprogrammed. Was it safe to leave the Bureau? Was it safe to stay? He wasn't sure anymore.

They stayed in Paris until heads started to roll. Literally. Then they locked up the flat, programmed their vambraces to return to the Bureau precisely when they were expected, and gave their perfectly rehearsed story. Even Clive.

It took nearly a month to find a foolproof way to read the records Didier had mentioned. He was right; the picture it painted wasn't good. Of all the arrests made over the last 200 years, more than half had been on first-time infractions, and almost 90% were violations that would have had no impact whatsoever. Yet nearly all of them--99%--had been reprogrammed and sent home with no memory of their travel. The Bureau, it seemed, was becoming more about power and less about preservation. Maybe what Didier had meant, all those decades ago, was that they needed to not give their collars a chance to speak, because more often than not, they were innocent. Listening to them just drove home the point that, as Bureau agents, they were...kind of the bad guys.

"I don't know what to _do_ about it, though," Frank told Pinky, waiting until night, when Clive was asleep. It wasn't that they didn't want him knowing; it was more that they didn't want to risk him accidentally telling someone else what they knew.

"Well. If we stay, we're enabling poor policy and...and malicious action," Pinky reasoned. "But if we leave, we risk becoming fugitives ourselves."

"Yeah." Frank had no good answer. "Maybe the best we can do is...nothing."

"Doing nothing is doing something, mate," Pinky reminded him.

"No, I mean...keeping on as we have been. We let travelers go when we can, spend the majority of our time in the Paris flat or maintaining it, anyway, and….come here as little as possible?"

"It's not much," Pinky said, "but I guess it's one way to go."

~

The canteen was absolutely buzzing with gossip. Everyone was holding furtive conversations, and hardly anyone was even trying to hide it.

"Hard to believe they're shutting things down, now," said a young woman at the next table, as Frank, Pinky, and Clive took their seats.

"I heard she's gone to the early 21st," said someone else.

" _I_ heard he's starting a family in 1870," said a man at the same table.

"Nah, he's going all the way back to the reign of Charlemagne, 800 AD," said another. The upshot was that no one really knew.

The announcement had clearly shocked the entire Bureau. Director Duquet and Head Agent Alexandra Lermontov had decreed that all time travel would cease, forever, as of December 31, 1899. All codes and clearances would be wiped. Entire floors, including the detention cells, were to be dismantled. Agents were being instructed to choose time periods in which to live out their remaining lives, without benefit of any futuristic devices--including their vambraces. There were still some pockets where time would stand still, such as the clock shop in Paris and the book shop in London, the tea house in Shanghai and such, but with these exceptions, no more travel was to be allowed.

"The rôle of the Bureau will now be relegated solely to apprehend anyone violating these rules by traveling. Until such time as unauthorized travel is detected, it will be disenfranchised," Director Duquet had announced.

"What about our own timepieces?" someone had asked at the briefing.

Mr. Duquet frowned. His answer, when it came, was careful and halting, as if he was choosing his words with deliberation. "I am in favor of allowing agents and travelers with no record to retain their timepieces, on the strict understanding that they are to be hidden or locked up, and not to be used. There are...others at the Bureau who believe all devices should be surrendered." 

"He wasn't just being diplomatic, there," the man at the next table said. "Way I heard it, there are two major factions at the top levels of the Bureau, and Duquet's on the losing side. It's practically an all-out war."

"Is that why he's leaving?"

"That's why he and Madame Lermontov insisted on shutting down the Bureau so long as no one travels." 

"No more time travel?" Clive asked sadly.

"Worse than that, Clive," Pinky said. "Everyone's going to get old. And die."

"We should live in the 21st," Clive said. "It's got the best technology, and it's the warmest. Although, after 2020 things get really really bad, so let's not go any further forward. OK, guys?"

Frank said only, "Eat your lunch, Clive." 

Pinky leaned close. "What are you thinking?" he whispered.

"Not here," Frank murmured. 

After lunch, he pulled a random assignment from the roster, had them punch in the coordinates, and opened the portal to take them there.

"Right," he said. "Now, to the flat." They jumped again.

"Two jumps in a row, makes me all tingly," Clive giggled. 

"Whatever, Clive," Frank grumbled, but Pinky could tell he wasn't really that annoyed, this time.

"So," Pinky said. "Time Bureau's shutting down. Agent Alexandra's buggering off and Duquet's going to bury himself in some Frankish heyday. And time travel is going to be illegal. What's your plan, then?"

Frank smiled. "Well, if no one else can travel, then we'll go round and collect as many timepieces as we can, so the Bureau can't have them. We may not know where Duquet goes but eventually, we'll find him. And as for the Bureau itself, I'll tell you this much, lads, one thing's for certain: We're never going back there again."

~

Moments after Frank and Thea stopped time, Clive stepped forward. "I don't think we've been introduced. I'm Clive," he said to Thea. Thea merely rolled her eyes after a particularly disdainful smirk. 

"This is Thea," Frank told him, circling his arm around her. She smiled at him. "So...where do you want to go first?" he asked her.

"Hold on, Frank," Pinky said, "I think we'd better destroy the Bureau before we go on any pleasure trips."

"We'll deal with the Bureau in due order," Thea announced. "First, I've got to go back to 1905 and put the horrid Claudine Renault back in her proper place."

"Whatever you wish," Frank told her. 

"So, because she's Frank's girl, we're doing what she says?" Clive asked Pinky.

"Yes, Clive. Apparently."

"Oh," Clive said happily. "Well, right then. Nineteen-oh-five, I suppose."

Even as they traveled, Pinky was already complaining. "Of course, Frank gets to keep his girl but I'll never probably never see Ines again. What if she's been captured by Lex?"

"Oh, I don't like Lex," Clive observed. "She's scary."

"She's dead dangerous," Pinky said.

"Relax," Frank interrupted, sounding exasperated. "We'll find out if she's still a prisoner as soon as we go to the Bureau, which will be right after we drop Thea in 1905."

"What do you mean, 'drop me,'?" Thea asked, suddenly back to her angry self.

"I mean...we'll come back, of course," Frank told her. "But your errand will probably take a while, won't it. And we can use that time to destroy the Bureau, so they never bother us again."

She looked mollified, though still rather lethal. "As long as you're coming back," she allowed.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Frank said. 

He moved in to kiss her. Pinky stepped away to give them space, dragging Clive with him. "I'll fill you in on what you've missed, mate," he said.

"Oh, Frank 2.0 told me loads about it," Clive claimed.

"Who?"

"The clever one, at the Bureau. She was nice."

"Ines."

"Right." Clive grinned. It was just so good to be back with Pinky and Frank.

"Okay," Frank said testily. "Let's get back to 1905."

They didn't bother to start the clock running again, but just went back to the Garnier. The two timepieces together opened up the portal as easily as cutting a cake. Once through it, Thea lost no time reestablishing her dominance over the other girls in the class. 

Frank smiled after her, then turned back to the other two. "Okay. Bureau next, yeah?"

"What about Ines?" Pinky asked.

"Think, Pinky. If Lex did recapture her, she's at the Bureau. We can find her, destroy it, and then you two can go wherever you want."

"Yeah," said Pinky.

But Ines was nowhere to be found. Lex, too, wasn't at the Bureau when they arrived. Frank found the master controls for the cells, and opened every one. 

"You're all free to go," he announced through the PA system. "The Bureau is officially defunct. Get out now, while you can."

He, Pinky, and Clive wandered out into the street, watching the people stream out.

"Ines isn't here," Pinky moaned. "Let's go back to 2019. Maybe she got out on her own."

Clive thought about the nice Bossette and everything she'd said while they were in the Black Room. "She's probably with her friend, right?" he suggested. "I mean, isn't that who she was trying to help? Lena Ballerina?"

"Oh, snap!" Pinky exclaimed. "Frank, lock on to my timepiece. Can you do that?"

"Of course, I can," Frank scoffed. "This timepiece can do almost anything. It's incredible."

"Then lock on to my timepiece."

"You're standing right here, Pinky," Frank reminded him.

Clive turned to Pinky. "Frank's right, Pinky. I mean, you're right here."

"Yes, Clive. But my timepiece is with Lena."

Frank frowned. "Why does--"

"I gave it to her so she could help Ines. But what matters is that she's got it with her. We can find her, and hopefully find Ines."

"All right," Frank sighed, rubbing his chin. "But not too long, right, because we'll need to collect Thea."

"She's fine," Pinky assured him. "She's completely in her element." Clive didn't know what that meant, but she had certainly seemed pleased when they left her terrorizing the other ballerinas.

Frank adjusted the timepiece. The portal at the Garnier opened, showing the mirror reflection beyond its doors. One by one, the three young men went through it, emerging on the other side.

"Huh. Nineteen eighty-three," Frank murmured as they emerged. "Still in Paris, though, so there's that much."

"So where are they?" Pinky asked.

"Looks like...huh. Looks like they went to Oscar's clock shop. Come on."

They made their way outside, blinking in the bright sun. Everything outside was a riot of color--neon and fluorescent and bold. Though the distance to Oscar's wasn't far, it took a while to get there because Frank kept playing around with the timepiece.

"Quit doing that," Pinky complained. "Can you wait until we find Ines, at least? I'm sure she'll be fascinated."

"Oh, all right."

Clive walked along with them, just happy to be together. It was so much better than the Bureau--even the Bureau before he was a prisoner there.

When they arrived, Pinky immediately broke into a run. "She's here!" he shouted, rushing up to the door. "She's here, I know she's here!" He opened the door and they followed him inside.

Sure enough, Frank 2.0, or Ines as they were calling her, stood there, still in her leotard and hoodie from the Black Room, pencils still in her hair. Lena the Ballerina was there, too. The two of them started talking excitedly to Frank and Pinky, asking about Henri and someone named Max. While they were asking loads of questions Clive couldn't answer, he noticed two others who looked as perplexed as he was. They were dressed in matching multi-colored button-down shirts and black hakama. The hakama were the same kind of pants Thea had been wearing over her leotard. They must have also been ballet students. In fact, Clive kind of thought he'd seen the blond one before. 

But seeing him together with the other boy was...entirely different. Something moved in him. They were like Frank and Pinky, only without the confusing brother/parent feelings he felt for the two of them. 

"Hey, Frank?" Clive asked quietly.

"Yes, Clive," Frank said.

"Is...is Pinky in love with Ines?"

"Well, he seems to think so, yeah. Says there's no other girl like her in the world."

"And...are you in love with Thea?"

Frank's mouth quirked as he considered. "I'd say the odds are pretty good, yeah."

"And...what does that...I mean, how do you know?" Clive asked.

"Well, I think you just...know," Frank said. Which was odd, because usually he was so smart, but he sounded as confused about it as Clive generally felt. 

But if that's what it was, if you just… _knew_ , then maybe Clive knew. He drifted over to where the two boys were standing.

"Hi. I'm Clive," he said quietly.

"I'm Jeff, and this is Isaac," said the tall, lanky blond one. (Really, it was like the reverse of Frank and Pinky, in a way, because the blond one was tall, and the dark one was stocky. It didn't matter as they were equally gorgeous.)

"Are you American?" Clive asked. "You sound American."

"Canadian."

Clive grinned. "Do you like video games?" He went on to say, "I love them" at just the same moment Jeff did. 

"I'm from England," Isaac interjected. He had moved closer, as if jealous or protective.

"Oh, wow. I was...I don't know where I was from, before. I just know I lived in an alley. But Frank and Pinky saved me. That's Frank, by the way, and that's Pinky," he continued, pointing out his friends. "I...I don't know why but I really think I like you. I mean, both of you. Is...that okay?"

"Uh," Jeff said hesitantly. "Well....uh, Clive. Actually--"

"Actually," Isaac added, interposing himself again, "It's funny you should ask. Could you...give us a moment?"

"Oh," Clive replied, crestfallen. "Yeah, yeah sure." He moved back to Frank, feeling like a right idiot. He'd come on too strong. He had to play it cool.

He had no idea how to play it cool. Jeff and Isaac moved apart from everyone, speaking to one another intently. After a few minutes, Isaac took Jeff's arm and they left the shop altogether.

"What's wrong, Clive?" Frank asked, seeing them go.

"I...think I'm in love," Clive blurted.

"Really?" Frank glanced out of the door after the two dancers. "Which one?"

"Both?" Clive said.

"Don't," Ines said suddenly. "Look, they fancy each other, but neither of them have admitted it to the other just yet. Let them work it out, okay?"

That made some sense. But then, it also didn't. Clive marched outside.

"Hi, again," he said to them. "Look, Ines says you fancy each other but you haven't told each other. And I fancy both of you, and I've already told you. So. I think we should all just fancy each other together." He blinked. "Unless...unless you don't fancy me. Right. I forgot about that part. Stupid, Clive, that's an important…."

"Clive?" said Isaac, cutting through his monologue. "We've just been discussing that very thing."

"Really?" Clive fairly squealed.

"Yeah, dude," Jeff added. "And the weird thing is...we do like you. We just…don't know anything about you."

"Oh, that's okay. I mean, Pinky didn't know a thing about Ines, but she took a long time but she likes him, too. And Frank, well, I mean, Frank's never fancied anyone until Thea, so--"

"THEA?" Jeff shouted. "Wait a minute! _Thea_ is with that guy, Frank?"

"Oh, yeah. They stopped time together," Clive said.

"Man, we gotta get back inside," Jeff told him and Isaac. "Listen, I promise, we'll all talk about this later, okay, but for now, we have to let Lena and Ines know what's going on."

"Oh, sure," Clive said. Jeff and Isaac went back inside. He stood in the courtyard, waiting. A moment later, Isaac opened the door.

"Oi, that means you, too, Clive! Get in here and join the family."

Clive beamed back at him. Family. Yes, that was exactly what it was. He could tell. Frank, Pinky, Thea, Ines, and now Jeff and Isaac. They were all his family. Whatever was happening, with the Bureau, with Henri and his girl, with anything everywhere and everywhen, they could handle it all. They'd all be fine. Because, he just knew, they were all a family.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, hhertzof! I hope you enjoyed this... sorry there's no ballet! I flirted with the idea of a full-on S3 continuation, but unfortunately, there's no way I would have finished it in time for Yuletide. 
> 
> So, confession time: I hadn't actually watched this yet when I took the assignment, and for some reason (despite ample evidence to the contrary), I thought it was a movie. I never expected it was roughly 26 hours' worth of viewing! But, I'm glad I did, even if I had to mainline like crazy to finish with any time for writing. Thank you for prompting me to finally watch this show that I'd seen in my Hulu recommendations. It is so ridiculous! And yet, oddly compelling. Buffy, Cordelia, Willow, Xander, and the rest of the gang are too cute with their hip-hop ballet mix. The adults are so idiotic! It's clearly a tween show. And NGL, it's the kind of show I would have eaten up when I was 12 and seriously dedicated to ballet.
> 
> I spent all of Season 1 wondering if we were ever going to find out exactly what made the "Time Collectors" so scary... can't say we ever did, but we did at least learn there is more to them than the one-note Steampunk knockoff villains they were for the first part of the show. (I'm shocked! Not.) While there are certainly major holes in this show's interior mechanics, and especially its realism with respect to how it resolves its situational problems, I have to say I (mostly) have enjoyed it.
> 
> As far as Season 3, the first thing I predict is that they'll go to Oscar's to help "blend in" and of course, we will see young versions of Ms. Carré and Armando. Maybe they'll even somehow give young Gabrielle a message that causes her 2019 self to reinstate Lena. Max is going to either a. miraculously start dancing again after a summer of intensive rehab or b. rethink his decision and stay but on a choreography track, or something. Guess we'll find out!
> 
> One thing's certain, they're going to learn a lot about original hip-hop in the 80's. Should be fun!
> 
> Anyway, hope you liked this, even without any big ballet moments.


End file.
